


Sea and Stars: Marginalia

by Sasskarian



Series: A Song of Sea and Stars [4]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Shakarian - Freeform, and Garrus hates water, and finds answers to questions he didn't know he had, in which Garrus meets My Shepard, in which Shepard hunts down Leviathan, prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-09-27 17:20:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10035986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sasskarian/pseuds/Sasskarian
Summary: UPDATE: Because of how slow this is progressing, and also because I have a few more drabbles that were not simply song prompts, I've decided to migrate this to a marginalia file, instead. This will be solely Iolana Shepard, a custom Vanguard, that the main OC of A Song of Sea and Stars.





	1. Carry On - Fun.

**Author's Note:**

> Ten Songs, Ten Moments - Carry On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He didn't give a damn about new war assets, or ruthless calculus anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iolana Shepard - Vanguard, Spacer, War Hero

Despoinia

* * *

 

She looked so tired.

The skin of her face was drawn and waxy, so thin that he could trace some of the fine network of veins below. Too many hours on duty, too little sleep and food, too much stress.

But the fire behind her eyes had never burned brighter.

This was the face of a huntress, he knew. He'd seen something similar when they'd been closing in on the Ilos relay and knew they had Saren in their sights. She'd set her coffee down-- the only time he ever saw Shepard abandon coffee was for something of monumental importance-- and briskly walked to the bridge to watch the lost planet appear in her sights.

He'd seen it again when Joker had patched into her cabin while they were catching their breath to tell her they had almost arrived at the Omega 4 Relay. He saw the moment a sated lover once again became a legend, someone who shook the galaxy and set it spinning as only she could  

And now he was seeing it as she slithered out of an ancient Titan mech that had been abandoned on a sinking ship for spirits only knew how long without even a hint of worry on her face. Just impatience and cold satisfaction  

"It's close," she said, looking up into his face and squinting against the salt spray. "It can't hide from me any longer. Whether it wants to or not, Leviathan has no choice but to fight if the Reapers are as close on our tail as Joker said."

Shepard breathed deep, the muscles of her face relaxing fractionally. While Cortez hemmed and hawed and there was the occasional clang of metal, she leaned into Garrus briefly, her armor knocking against his comfortingly.

"I missed the ocean," she whispered. "It's not Earth but there's something comforting about salt and water to me." Her nose wrinkled. "Although this smells more like the Atlantic than my ocean."

Garrus said nothing, his gizzard twisting itself into knots. Shepard had a deep love for the sea, likely due to her heritage, but there wasn't much comforting about a giant body of water hiding who knew what for Turians. And he knew that if she got into trouble down there, there was nothing he could do to save her.

He couldn't watch her six at the bottom of this ocean and it terrified him.

* * *

 

"Okay, Commander," Corez called, far too soon for Garrus' comfort. "It's as ready as I can make it."

She turned and strode towards the mech, giving it a cursory glance before climbing in and buckling the restraints; she trusted her pilot to keep her safe and were they not cold and terrified, it would have been touching to see that kind of faith.

Cortez worried at his lip, eyes roving over the joints and seams, clearly doing computations in his head. Garrus recognized the slightly glazed look of someone running long strings of math and schematics. Javik scanned the skies constantly, looking for more Reaper forces, watching their backs; he was a good soldier.

"Commander, even I would balk at this plan," the Prothean said uneasily.

Garrus laid his hand on her foot, staring at her face like he could memorize it.

"Shepard..." His subharmonics radiated fear. He could hear it, ashamed, but couldn't stop it.

She brushed her fingers along his and whispered firmly, "I'll be fine."

Helplessly, he watched the canopy close over her face with a hiss that should have been reassuring. She walked the mech over to the edge and, with a last "here goes nothing" that Garrus was pretty sure they weren't meant to hear, stepped off the edge.

* * *

 

Things were quiet for the first few minutes as she sank into the depths and kept them updated on her status.

Garrus found himself desperately mirroring her every breath, the tight ball of panic in his chest only easing when he heard the next inhalation.

"Shit," Cortez muttered. Both Garrus and Javik spun towards him.

"Link's gone dead." The pilot's face pinched and he fiddled with some more sparking wires, trying to restore the comms. "Dammit. Whatever's interfering is on her end."

"We have bigger problems," Javik announced solemnly, pointing upwards with the muzzle of his rifle. "Reaper forces inbound."

The panic in Garrus' chest clenched, then hardened into fury. His fingers trembled as he slid a fresh thermal clip into his rifle and he sighted the first Husk. As its torso exploded, splashing a nearby Marauder with cybernetic fluid, Garrus found his calm in the time dilation effects of battle.

He didn't give a damn about Leviathan.

He didn't give a damn about new war assets, or ruthless calculus anymore. He might not have been able to follow Shepard to the depths, but he damn well could keep this clearing free of their enemies.

If there is one thing Shepard had taught him how to do, it was carry on in the face of overwhelming odds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're lost and alone  
> Or you're sinking like a stone.  
> Carry on.


	2. I Will Follow You Into The Dark - Death Cab for Cutie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turians in general aren't poetic creatures. Pragmatism and propriety was the usual route with his race, and even their art reflected those ideals. Secretly, he held a fondness for poetry, particularly human poets. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iolana Shepard - Vanguard, Spacer, War Hero

Garrus hadn't known it was possible to fall in love with a star. 

Until he met humans, of course.

Some years ago, he'd read some of the human writers. An attempt to understand them, he told himself. The dust of Shanxi hadn't settled between their races, but they were trying to work together. It wasn't easy, by any stretch of the word: there were Turian veterans who remembered the taste of human blood and the best way to incapacitate a human soldier-- which was sometimes not the most fun way. And there were human soldiers who'd lost family or friends to Turian claws and teeth and ships. 

But they were still there. Still working, both races still trying to put the past behind them. And despite the prevalence of things that humans brought with them, sometimes to the annoyance of their non-human colleagues, it was working. Not every human jumped at the sight of a Turian walking down the Citadel halls. Not every Turian snapped when the nearby humans looked sideways at them. There were even Turians humming human songs and using human idioms and vocabulary (they still couldn't compete with humans for creative swearing, though).

There were people on both sides befriending the other race, and everyone in the galaxy gave a quiet sigh of relief. 

 

* * *

 

Of course, the one thing that had baffled him-- and most Turians-- about humanity was its single and unending grasp at concepts no Turian had really thought of before. Beyond the music about everything under the sun-- "Garrus, you've got to understand, there is literally a song for everything."-- and the senseless sayings-- "Well, slap my ass and call me Sally!"-- he listened to his C-Sec coworkers talk about Earth or their colonies with terms that seemed lyrical and nonsensical. 

At first, he assumed it was simply his translator failing to grasp subtext. But over time, he realize that this went deeper than that. This wasn't just a vocal subtext he was missing, it was racial. Cultural. 

This was something that his human comrades-- and later, friends-- had grown up on. Being told about the beauty in the galaxy, the good in people. How else could he explain a people that saw a Mass Relay and decided the first order of business was to throw themselves at it in the hope of finding something beyond themselves.

Hope seemed to flow in their veins as much as blood and pride did. And that was something he hadn’t really understood.

So he asked questions and got answers in the form of Plath, Keats and Shakespeare and other famous, long-dead humans. And what he found was his own answer, in abundance. These people-- these humans-- looked up at their planet's sky and, even while writing about home and love and life, always wondered what lay beyond it. Always looking for Something More. 

Many Turians thought humans were selfish. Garrus thought it was more that they were lonely.

 

* * *

 

When he first met her, Commander Iolana Shepard, Garrus saw what humans must. Her proud back and steady shoulders, the sure and easy way she held her sidearm, and above all, the fierce intelligence in her eyes. He saw this singular human female and, to the Turian in him, she was the definition of soldier. A legend before she'd ever set foot in the Citadel, burning brighter than the drive core of a frigate; the galaxy didn't forget that one human on shore leave and a rebel group quickly gathered from frightened tourists had held off against thousands of Batarian slavers. 

He saw the quickness of her movements, the tilt of her head as she sized him up and almost immediately made some decision about him; he found he was reluctant to ask what, precisely, she had decided. He saw the steel that kept her spine straight as she faced down the Citadel Council, voice never wavering, arms steady at parade rest. And he watched, incredulous, as she twisted the Council this way and that to suit herself, as their assumptions faltered under the proof she uncovered as easily as she breathed. 

He watched as she smiled, a sly, private thing, and held out her hand to him, inviting him to her ship and crew. 

But as he watched her, as they worked and talked and laugh, he saw more. 

He saw that her hands sometimes trembled, especially if they were bloodied with someone she couldn't save. He sometimes wondered if some part of her was still trapped back on Elysium, watching people she couldn’t save; he wondered if she realized how many she had already saved.

He saw the lines on her face deepen with every left-behind star system. For a woman from a lineage of sailors and spacers, for a woman he’d walked in on staring out the windows at the faint, cold stars with an expression of pure love, Shepard seemed to lose something every time they were one step behind Saren. New planets didn’t bring that spark of joy and discovery to her face any longer—they just hardened the steel in her eyes.

He saw her resolve almost glowing around her, her determination to save every single soul in the galaxy that she could. Anything less was personal failure. 

And he marveled. 

Looking at Shepard was like looking at a star in human shape. She gave light and warmth to everything around her, but too close and she burned; she consumed. The swell of her personality drew others to her, caught them in her gravity: a Krogan battlemaster, old and tired; a Quarian, young and unsure; an Asari, lost to knowledge instead of life.

A Turian, failed and irredeemable until she smiled at him. 

When she moved on the battlefield, he saw grace and beauty; every movement followed through, nothing wasted. When she held someone's hand and promised them the impossible, the strength in her words was believed; it was unthinkable to doubt her. When she commanded, she was obeyed; there was something in her voice, some undercurrent, that made new recruits stand straight and salute, and veterans smile in respect. 

And Garrus understood, then. He understood humans who talked of falling in love with galaxies and stars, who saw divinity, who talked of love swallowing up everything, who used poetry to describe something that defied words.

Shepard was his guiding star, a force so powerful and vast, he was torn apart in her gravity and reforged into something else. No longer a failed cop, no longer a bad Turian, no longer just Garrus Vakarian, professional disappointment. His star had given him purpose and strength, her hold on him invisible and unbreakable. 

He wondered how long he could keep her from burning out.

And he knew that if she did burn out, he’d be right behind her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love of mine, some day you will die  
> But I'll be close behind  
> I'll follow you into the dark  
> No blinding light or tunnels to gates of white  
> Just our hands clasped so tight  
> ...  
> If there's no one beside you  
> When your soul embarks  
> Then I'll follow you into the dark


	3. Home - Daughtry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How’re you holding up, Shepard?” His eyes trained her shaking fingers twisting around themselves. “You’re looking a bit rough.”
> 
> “Could be better,” she admitted, knocking his knees with her own. “It should be getting better as the time passes but. It’s not. Six years since that hellhole, and it’s just getting harder.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plain Jane Shepard - Vanguard, Spacer, War Hero

It’s the pain that gets to her.

“Commander Shepard!”

It’s _always_ the pain that gets to her.

“Shepard! Commander Shepard!”

They see a hero.

“Shepard, the Alliance wants to know–”

She sees a failure.

 _You_ screwed up, _Shepard_.

Her shoulders tensed, chest tightening as surely as if there were a vice squeezing her. Air was being forced out of her lungs, just like behind that last barricade, just like when–

“Just ignore them,” Anderson murmured, his shoulder barely brushing hers; the contact jolted her back to the throng of people in front of her. She took a deep breath, chilled to the bone, even between the two people she trusted the most in the galaxy. “It’s the anniversary and the reporters smell the blood in the water, especially with Saren around.”

Anderson leveled a look at her, and then at the tall soldier beside her. “Make sure it’s not yours, Shepard.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied, shoulders straightening, as she stepped up to the camera podium to address the Alliance as their Skyllian Blitz hero. “Just another year.”

 

* * *

 

Head in her hands, Iolana Shepard tried to ignore the ache behind her eyes. Her coffee– slid across her cramped desk by a sympathetic ensign– had long since grown cold but the smell lingered, comforting her through the shivers of memory.

Most days, she regretted that shore leave on Elysium. It should have been a happy time: a paradisiacal world, full of greenery and beaches, no duty for two full days, nothing more threatening than over-eager tourists.

But it had turned into nothing but a nightmare: The screams of the Batarians as they died, the glaze of death in the eyes of her squad, cobbled together from two other off-duty marines and a few brave tourists willing to hold a gun to survive. Three long, grueling days and dozens of slavers and the gasps of the dying.

Then there were Anniversaries, which made her hate Elysium even more.

Every year on the same day as her extraction, reporters followed her like pyjacks with a laser pointer.

Every year, after a private coffee with Anderson and a vid call from her mother, she faced the reporters, answering the same questions as the year before.

The day she was finally extracted, the day the news broke: Commander Iolana Shepard, daughter of Executive Officer Hannah Shepard, Alliance Navy, had survived a Batarian slaver attack. Making humanity proud, all the holos said, tossing around words like “pride of the Alliance” and “single-handed victory.”

More annoyingly, they always droned on about how Hannah Shepard was so proud, had to be proud, look at her daughter; Jane was pretty tired of them citing her mother whenever she did something particularly clever.

 _Like a trained varren_ , she thought viciously, fingers squeezing each other with enough force to make her joints protest. If only they could have seen the bodies piling high, the spent smell of thermal clips. If they could have heard the children crying.

The weight around her neck never quite left her. It was a chain that followed her, forged in rifle fire and children’s blood and–

“You’d think after six years, they’d get tired of the same old questions, wouldn’t you?” A deep, flanging voice cut into her thoughts.

Shepard looked up to see her best friend leaning against the door. She jerked her head to the side and he crossed the room, dropping comfortably onto her bed, his feet bracketing hers. The casual intimacy helped pull her back into the here and now.

“How’re you holding up, Shepard?” His eyes trained her shaking fingers twisting around themselves. “You’re looking a bit rough.”

“Could be better,” she admitted, knocking his knees with her own. “It should be getting better as the time passes but. It’s not. Six years since that hellhole, and it’s just getting harder.”

There was a comforting rumble in his voice as he took her hands, warming them between his.

“You did well in the interview, at least,” he said softly.

“Well, you had a front row seat, at least, standing next to Anderson,” she scoffed lightly and started to rise, to pace off some of the anxious energy. Something to remind her she was alive still.

Garrus didn’t let go of her hand but pulled her to sit on the bed next to him; he wrapped a long arm around her shoulders and leaned his chin against the top of her head. With a sigh, she started to relax into him.

There was something about moments like this– just the two of them, wherever they were– that reminded her how it felt to be alive and loved. How it felt to be _home_.

“Oh, thank god you’re a Turian,” she sighed, his warmth washing into her and dispelling the chill of the memories. The hum of his sub vocals vibrated gently through his chest and she was profoundly, absurdly grateful that they were so good at reading each other.

“Garrus Vakarian, at your service,” he laughed, his hand squeezing hers. “The galaxy’s best space heater, apparently.”

“Mm.” Shepard breathed deep, the lingering coffee overpowered by the pleasant smell of gun oil and metal and– underneath it– sand and heat. Whatever else came, this was home for her. Her ship, her Turian, her command.

It almost didn’t matter that the hunt for Saren was frustrating and every step forward was followed by two back. It almost didn’t matter that Geth were everywhere and humanity was panicking and there was a hint that something massive was coming.

It almost didn’t even matter that it was the Anniversary of the Elysian Massacre and, by now, Khalisa Bint Sinan al-Jilani was probably editing her careful, respectful answers to turn into some anti-Batarian hate tirade.

For one brief, knee-melting moment, she allowed herself the comfort of pretending nothing mattered but Garrus’ warmth and his heartbeat under her ear.

“Shepard…” Garrus didn’t speak more, but his hand in hers was steady and solid.

“Let me guess: you’ve got my six?” She looked up at him, a gentle smile on her face.

Garrus’ mandibles flared as he laughed, talons brushing across her dress blues in a comforting caress.

 _Home_.

“Always, Shepard.”

She’d come a long way since Elysium. No longer just that sole survivor, with a ragtag resistance. She had a home, and a partner, and a purpose.

For the first Anniversary ever, with Garrus next to her, and the Normandy humming peacefully under her feet, and the small, comforting sounds of her crew at work, she didn’t hate herself quite as much.

It was worth remembering that she finally had a home.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I'm going home,  
> Back to the place where I belong,  
> And where your love has always been enough for me.  
> ...  
> But these places and these faces are getting old.  
> I said these places and these faces are getting old,  
> So I'm going home.  
> I'm going home.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm slowly getting back into the hang of writing fic, in between life going through bouts of insanity. So I will update this as I have chapters. 
> 
> As always, I really love hearing from you guys, and I'm absolutely floored by the page views I've gotten! It's a serious ego boost to see so many people enjoying my work. 
> 
> Thank you so much for your feedback. <3


End file.
